


Castro and Market

by cathalin



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Drag Queen, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-15
Updated: 2009-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 21:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathalin/pseuds/cathalin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of the last episode, the Team ends up celebrating in the Castro District of San Francisco. Events cause a few unexpected revelations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Castro and Market

John kissed Rodney for the first time in the Castro, standing under a rainbow banner at night.

Rodney's hands made flailing motions at the air.

Two drag queens were leaning against the wall of the alley behind them. The blonde whistled and said to Rodney, "I'll take him, honey, if you don't want him."

* * * *

Rodney's head was swirling. It'd only been a month since they'd been on Earth, but so much had happened. Not least of which was Jennifer's completely uncalled-for breakup with him over what he'd privately labeled The Sentient Jello Incident with her mother, the very first week back. Truthfully, he had to admit it was probably for the best; it perhaps wasn't a good sign that he'd had to constantly bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from mocking...well, pretty much everything.

It wasn't like he didn't get that he could probably improve himself. Sure, he could work on being a nicer person. Maybe after the inside of his cheek healed.

He was still kind of sad; he hadn't wanted to go anywhere tonight, but Ronon had insisted. "You don't want that stuff anyway, McKay. You just think you do." Rodney hadn't understood what he'd meant.

Their mistake tonight had been letting Ronon and Teyla pick the destination. By the time Rodney figured out that Ronon's "great place I heard of to eat and hear music" was a dance club, it was too late. He'd made a token protest, but it was clear from the gleam in Teyla's eye it wasn't going to do any good. She had the night off from mom duties; she and Kanaan swapped like that sometimes, and Teyla was fascinated with Earth music and dancing. And wow had they ever found it, ending up at a place that caused Rodney to simultaneously cover his eyes and stare open-mouthed at the lithe dancers shimmying suggestively in skintight clothing.

Rodney felt better after a couple of drinks, and felt even better when a nice young man they met wanted to talk physics with him. Mark was earning a doctorate from Stanford, and he was really fascinated with Rodney's recent theories on the underlying mathematics of strings. He kept putting his hand on Rodney's arm and leaning in so he could hear him better over the thumping music. John was being kind of a jerk - what else was new - so Rodney waved a hand and told him to go amuse himself, maybe join Teyla and Ronon, who were dancing enthusiastically. So enthusiastically, a small circle had formed around them, which was kind of weird, but maybe it had something to do with their vaguely alien-looking clothing and hairstyles. Ronon in particular seemed pretty popular; Rodney vaguely wondered whether he should take the martial arts more seriously if it made scarily-attractive people stare at you like that.

The music got louder and Mark leaned in even closer to say something in Rodney's ear. Rodney couldn't hear over the thumping bass, so he kind of smushed his ear up against Mark's mouth. He could feel Mark's breath even over the warmth of the club's air, hot on the side of his face. Now that Rodney thought about it, he realized he felt a little flushed.

Suddenly John's hand was on Rodney's arm. John's voice sounded weird, not like his John-on-Earth voice at all, but more like his voice with Kolya or Wraith Queens. "I need a minute," was all he said, but Mark suddenly saw someone he knew across the dance floor and left. Rodney whirled to say something to John about being such an asshole, but John yanked on Rodney's arm and pulled him bodily out the door to the street and the warm night air.

Rodney was working up a head of steam, "Sheppard, what the--" when John tightened his hand on Rodney's arm, grabbed his other arm, and propelled him backwards, flat up against an undoubtedly-disgusting wall in the alley beside the bar.

"Damnit, Rodney," Sheppard hissed. ""Damnit, no fucking way. Not this. I can't, not--"

Rodney opened his mouth to ask John whether there were aliens inhabiting his brain, because he wasn't making any sense at all.

John kissed him.

It wasn't soft and hesitant, like Sheppard's shy smiles might predict would be the case. It wasn't languid and slouchy like Sheppard's posture and smirk might indicate. And it wasn't mocking and smart like Sheppard's snark might foreshadow. Not that Rodney had ever thought about what all those things might predict. Recently. Much.

Instead, John's kiss was hard and insistent and kind of, well, _desperate_. It started with a hard press of lips, followed immediately by John's tongue, hot and kind of harsh, pushing into Rodney's mouth. John's hands on Rodney's biceps flexed, then gripped even harder. Rodney gasped, but because John's tongue was in his mouth, it just opened him up further to the kiss. John made a sound that Rodney felt in his gut and pressed forward into Rodney's space, shoving that whole slouchy lean muscled body right up against Rodney's.

After some indeterminate length of time, John pulled off.

Rodney inhaled a huge gasp of air. The connection between his brain and mouth was temporarily broken, or maybe his brain had flatlined altogether, because all that happened for a while was Rodney making flailing motions at the air while John stared at him. John was pale and his eyes were big; he looked more horrified with each passing second. His lips were shiny and swollen.

"Uh," John finally said, his voice sounding like John-on-Earth's voice again: subdued and kind of, hmm, kind of sad. And now on top of that, panicked.

That was when the blonde drag queen suggested he -- or she, were you supposed to call them she? -- would take John if Rodney didn't want him.

"Rodney, I'm...Fuck." John took a step backward, eyes big. "Sorry, I didn't mean, it must," John looked wildly around at the rainbow banner and the drag queens and took another step back, "it must be the place, something about being here, I don't..."

"Hold it right there!" Rodney's voice had come back.

John stopped where he was. His face was red in the light emanating from the club and he was biting his lip. He looked at the ground.

"You do not," Rodney said, trying to keep his voice no louder than a yell, "get to do that. You can't just walk off after that!"

John kept looking at the ground. He was breathing kind of fast; Rodney could see his chest rise and fall, rise and fall. John's lip was turning white from the pressure of his teeth. Rodney felt an uncharacteristic ache in his chest, like he wanted to _do_ something. Something ridiculous like pat John. As if John was the one who needed comforting here.

Rodney took a deep breath. "You said, and I quote, no fucking way! To which I say, no fucking way _what_? And then the whole, whole... _thing_." Rodney's hand flailed around again.

"Yeah, well." John talked to the ground. "Mistake. Sorry. Alchohol. The Castro. Won't happen again, obviously."

"Oh, _sweetie_ ," the redhead on the corner butted in with a croon, sharing a significant glance with the blonde and looking at John. "You need cheering up?"

Rodney turned to give them his best glare, the one he pulled out for IOA heads and megalomaniac alien psychopaths. "He does not need cheering up." He looked at John, whose hands were knotted into fists, and who was still looking at the ground. That tight feeling in Rodney's chest was still there, even worse than before. "At least," he added, because he suddenly thought maybe he was starting to understand a few things, "at least, not by you."

The blonde raised one of his, no her, no his highly-arched eyebrows expressively at Rodney. Rodney rolled his eyes and took a step toward John. Tentatively, he put out his hand and placed it gingerly on Sheppard's forearm. "Hey," he said. "Leaving aside that you appear to have gone temporarily insane, that was really..." He stopped dead. He had no idea what he'd meant to say.

"Oh my god, they're pathetic!" the redhead stage-whispered.

"It's kind of sweet, though," the blonde said, smiling soft-eyed at the redhead.

"Yeah, I suppose." The redhead gently laced his fingers in those of the blonde, then looked up at him with a soft smile of his own.

Rodney rolled his eyes again. "We are not pathetic. We're just..." Rodney looked at John, who was looking at the drag queens' joined hands with a wistful expression in his eyes Rodney had only seen when John came across things that flew really fast or weapons that were extremely deadly. "John?" Rodney's voice came out a whisper.

After a moment John sighed and turned his head and looked straight at Rodney.

Rodney's breath gushed out and he felt a little weak, because John's expression was open in a way he'd never seen it.

"How long?" Rodney whispered, then shook his head, because no, he knew. He _knew_. Wait, how did he know?

Apparently he'd said all that out loud, because John said quietly, "I didn't--At first I didn't realize. And then I kind of did, but I figured out I didn't have to exactly hide it. From you. Except. Well, recently. I hoped it was...harmless. I wouldn't do anything to--" John's voice stopped; it had gotten suspiciously choked there at the end.

Rodney's hands were curled around John's biceps; how had that happened? And someone was shaking a little. Oh. It was Rodney. He closed his eyes and replayed the last five years in his head. And okay, yes, he _had_ been something close to stupid. He opened his eyes and turned to the drag queens. "To answer your question, no, you can't have him. I want him."

He turned back to John. He could barely get his voice to work; his words came out a whisper. "I want him," he said, feeling heart-stoppingly brave.

When John kissed Rodney the second time, it was soft and kind of slouchy and a lot more like what Rodney would've predicted a Sheppard kiss would be. If he'd been thinking about that kind of thing. Which it turned out, he had, for a really long time. After, the two of them just stood there like idiots, staring at each other, until the redhead's voice insinuated itself into Rodney's happy bubble. "I don't know, baby. That was sweet and everything, but if I were you, I think I'd try to make him mad again."

The blonde laughed, a tinkling happy sound. "Yeah, that first one was really pretty damn hot, mwowrr!"

"Oh, please," Rodney said. "As if I'd stoop to such juvenile depths." Rodney remembered the feeling of John pressing him up against the slimy wall, his hands digging into Rodney's arms, the passion in his voice. "Though," he added, "that Stanford guy really was kind of cute."

"Ha ha, McKay," John said. "Maybe I'll just chain you to your desk if you're going to start cruising the Castro."

Rodney darted a glance at the drag queens. He couldn't help it; he raised an expressive eyebrow at them. Sure enough, the redhead murmured, "He could chain me to anything he wanted to."

"Me, too," Rodney said. "Let's go get started on that?"

"Sure thing, McKay," John said, some note Rodney had never heard underlying his voice. Rodney thought, with a little never-before-felt flutter in his chest, that it might be happiness. "But first, one thing. You gorgeous ladies wanna be in a picture?"

* * * *

Years later, the photo still made Rodney smile: John, grinning, with the redhead on one side and the blond on the other, posed under the street signs marking the corner of Castro and Market.

  
  



End file.
